


In the Beginning

by Angelily_Viventis



Series: Alan Rickman x Plus-size reader [57]
Category: Alan Rickman - Fandom
Genre: 1980s, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Bisexual Female Character, Condom, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fucking, Smut, Young Alan, fashion - Freeform, young reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:35:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26158156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelily_Viventis/pseuds/Angelily_Viventis
Summary: A look at what Alan and Reader would have been up to in the 80s.
Relationships: Alan Rickman/Original Female Character(s), Alan Rickman/Reader
Series: Alan Rickman x Plus-size reader [57]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1729954
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	In the Beginning

A/N: This is the second request I've received about doing Alan and reader when they were younger in the 1980s/1990s. I was born in 1995, so I have no idea what life was like in the 80s apart from what Google and TV have taught me. I have done some research and I'm trying to stick to a realistic timeline of which events would have happened in Alan's life in the 80s, but since this is fanfiction, after all, I have made some changes. Please don't crucify me.

A few of you requested this chapter and I hope this will suffice. I haven't tagged anyone yet, but I'll go through my comments and tag the people who requested this.

***This is kind of around the age that I picture Alan as in this one-shot.   
______________________________________

It is the year 1988. _Historic England_. The ecstatic birth of modern British dance and drug culture. The era of Pacman, Pez, and Slush Puppies. The era where Casio's first digital watches doubles as calculators. Technologically, it is an amazing decade - every month it seems like a cool new product is hitting the market: walkmans, portable phones the size of bricks, camcorders, and CDs. Politically, Margaret Thatcher, myth-encrusted, so stylised and armoured in her presentation, is the central figure of it all.

The era where Britain's overall colour seems like that of a very old movie - brick reds, browns, beiges, and of course, the ever-present grey skies. A time where busses and other public transport still run effectively. Just recently, they started construction on the Tower 42 skyscraper in London, which they are hoping will be the tallest tower in the world. The third-generation Ford Escort being UK's most popular car to own with its contemporary design of black louvred radiator and straked rear lamp clusters, as well as the aerodynamic "bustle-back" bootlid stump.

It is that very Ford Escort that is now pulling (Y/N) from her thoughts, honking at her, as she accidentally crosses the street without looking.

"Watch where you're going, you bitch!" The owner of the car drunkenly yells at her after winding down his window.

"Oh, sod off!" She pulls her freezing hand from her coat pocket, throwing her middle finger in the air at him, her soaked white trainers splatting through the rain puddles as she tries to run towards shelter.

"Fucker," she mumbles angrily under her breath, wiping at her face, as she breathes out a puff of smoke.

She's not sure if the droplets running down her cheeks are from the pouring rain or her tears. Within seconds, she's huddled under an awning, the dim yellow light above the door the only source of light in an otherwise dark East End of London.

She knocks erratically, looking around to make sure no one will come up behind her.

"(Y/N)?" Comes the confused voice of her longtime friend, Alan, as he opens the door.

"I told her, Al," she sobs, pulling her coat tighter around her voluptuous body, "I told her and she kicked me out of our flat."

"Oh, Darling," his face shows signs of empathy as he reaches his hand out towards her, "put that faggot out before you come in. You know I've given up smoking."

She takes one last drag of the tightly rolled nicotine before flicking it into a nearby rain puddle.

He steps aside, pulling her inside the toasty flat that he shares with his other good friend, Ruby Wax.

"I'll go make you some tea," he offers politely, taking her dripping wet coat from her and hanging it by the door before he vanishes into the kitchenette area.

"Ruby! Get a towel!" (Y/N) hears his baritone voice call into the distance.

Chunky heels run across the wooden floor as Ruby makes her appearance at the door.

"Oh, you look awful!" She exclaims upon noticing (Y/N)'s running mascara. "Here, this ought to keep you warm."

She drapes the brown fluffy towel over (Y/N)'s shoulders, rubbing her upper arms to warm the poor girl up.

"Thanks, Ruby," she sniffs, wiping at her cheeks with her cold, wet hands.

"Come on, we're in here," Ruby leads her shivering form through to the living area, settling (Y/N) on the beige sofa she knows Alan would like to sit on also, before settling herself on the brown floral armchair adjacent.

"What are you doing to the poor turtle?" (Y/N) asks through a snuffle as she kicks off her soaked trainers and tucks her feet under her on the sofa.

Her body is still slightly trembling. She's not sure if it's from the cold or her devastating news.

"Tortoise," Alan corrects as he comes to stand with his arms crossed in front of him, leaning against the door frame connecting the living space to the kitchenette.

She visually takes him in. He's about to celebrate his forty-first birthday, yet she almost can't believe it. All three of them are in their forties, but they all still seem too young to be classified as _middle-aged._ Alan stands tall, slender, with longer hair than what he usually keeps.

 _God, that hair._ Long enough to touch his shoulders, and short enough in the front to be elegantly swept to the sides, with a little bit of grey starting to show near his temples. Those thick sandy brown locks that she likes to run her fingers through during their nights of passion. And, ladies, (Y/N) can tell you that the carpet matches the drapes. Although he's not a very hairy person, she can attest to that. he has just the right amount of underarm hair for a man, and sparse patches of hair covering his chest and nipple areas. Just enough to twirl her finger around in as they lay spent in bed, post-coitus.

" _Tortoise_ , whatever," she mutters after he clears his throat - his way of letting her know she's staring again.

But how can she not stare? With those dark blue stovepipe jeans that show off his delectable buttocks, and that black turtle neck sweater that pulls taught every time he crosses his arms, showing just how cut his biceps are.

"We're feeding her peanut butter to watch her try to chew with no teeth," Ruby's shrill voice rips (Y/N) from her thoughts about Alan.

She looks confused at Betty, the _tortoise_ , sitting atop the wooden George Nakashima coffee table, as the poor animal moves its jaw in a side to side motion.

"Doesn't that border on animal abuse?" She looks up at Alan, a soft frown settling between her brows.

"I don't think so," Ruby shrugs, holding another spoonful of peanut butter out to the tortoise, "it's just for fun. Sometimes we invite other people over to watch."

"Wonderful parents you two are," (Y/N) raises her eyebrow sarcastically at Alan who returns a hearty chuckle before returning into the kitchenette.

"Here, your tea," he walks over to her, handing her a steaming mug of Earl Grey, before sitting down next to her on the sofa, his hand casually resting on her clothed thigh.

"Thanks," the warm liquid runs down her throat as she takes a few sips, warming her up from the inside, calming her nerves.

(Y/N) adjusts the towel over her shoulder, scooting closer into Alan's side, careful not to spill her tea on him before the splayed out newspaper on the coffee table catches her eye.

"Oh," she catches the attention of her two friends, "what's your take on the merger between the SDP and the Liberals? Do you really think forming a Liberal Democratic party is such a good idea?"

She doesn't know where that came from. She has absolutely no interest in politics, but she guesses she'd talk about anything else rather than her upsetting news. Especially in front of Ruby.

"I object to it. It's going to bring the whole country to shambles!" Alan starts, sitting slightly forward on the sofa, ready to defend his party.

He, on the other hand, has always had a keen interest in politics, always joking that he "was born a card-carrying member of the LabourParty".

"I expect you'll be handing out opposition party flyers at the next rally then?" (Y/N) raises her eyebrows, she knows his answer.

"You bet your plump arse, I will. I'll stand in the bloody sun all day long, handing out flyers, if it means we'll be able to win over that lot," his tone becomes heated as he riles himself up.

"Didn't you used to go out with a girl who was doing something in politics?" (Y/N) rubs her chin in thought. "What was her name? I thought she was a sweet girl."

A low grumble escapes Alan's throat as he sits back against the sofa, arms crossed against his chest. He hates when she changes the topic mid political discussion. In all fairness, though, he does tend to become aggravated by it all and he can see why (Y/N) would want to shift away from the conversation.

"Rima," Ruby reminds her.

"Oh, yes, that's her," she snaps her fingers together. "Whatever happened to her?"

"That was ages ago. We had an on-again, off-again... thing. Honestly, it was too much of a hassle."

"Such a shame, I thought you two made a cute pair."

"Hm, I thought so, too," Ruby agrees, turning Betty to face the two on the sofa, her jaw still moving as she tries to chew the last of the peanut butter.

"Well, anyway, I wonder what she makes of all this. Maybe we might bump into her at the rally. If I recall correctly, I think she said she wanted to work for the Labour Party."

Alan doesn't reply, indicative that he'd like to stop talking about the opinions of his former lover. 

"So, Ruby, what's new with you?" (Y/N) clears her throat, returning her attention back to Ruby.

"Well," she sighs, "Alan and I were walking to the theatre earlier today and ran into Peter Brooke..."

_Right, the director of Antony and Cleopatra, which Alan will be performing in on stage very soon._

"...I told him I would like to put Betty up for the part of the snake. Of course, she'd play nude," ruby points out rather aloof, causing (Y/N) to choke on her tea. "But Juliet Stevenson ended up getting Betty's part."

"Oh, Juliet's playing opposite you?" (Y/N) swallows before turning to look cautiously at Alan.

"Hm."

"Be careful, you know how she can be," she says lowly to him.

Indeed, aside from Ruby, Juliet has made advancements towards Alan on more than a handful of occasions.

The rainy evening drags on as the three friends continue talking about everything and nothing. Silly banter pursues, and eventually, poor old Betty is placed back into her man-made habitat upon (Y/N)'s request.

"How is work going?" Alan asks, gently squeezing her thigh.

"Work's alright. Gucci and Versace are both bringing out new collections this Winter. It's hard work, but at least it pays the rent," (Y/N) shrugs, finishing the last of her tea, and placing the mug down next to her on the pinewood floor.

"They're putting Diana on the cover of _Marie Claire Magazine_ this month,calling her 'The Queen of Fashion'," (Y/N) starts, Ruby's eyes twinkling at the mention of the Princess, holding on to every word (Y/N) says.

"It's going to be a good issue with forty-eight pages filled with segments like _All Dressed up with Somewhere to Go, A Princess' Crowning Glory, The Frills that Thrill,_ and _The Off Duty Princess._ It's going to be wonderful. Oh, and did I mention that the photographs will be in _colour_?"

"No!" Ruby covers her mouth in surprise, a high pitched squeal escaping her lips, "Oh, please, (Y/N), you _have_ to tell me when it gets out. I absolutely have to have a copy."

(Y/N) laughs lightly at her friend's excitement before promising, "Sure, I might even be able to snag you a copy straight from the publishers."

Ruby sighs in adoration, "do you think Diana will ever be queen?"

"I think so," Alan is the first to respond, "I think she'd make a right better job of ruling this country than that fat old arse currently occupying the throne."

(Y/N) shakes her head, rolling her eyes, at Alan's dry sense of humour.

A sense of calm settles over the room as the occupants take a moment to listen to the pattering of rain outside. Ruby looks between the two occupants on the sofa, biting her bottom lip as she waits for the perfect time to break the silence.

"Now, back to Gucci, what's the new trends we need to look out for?"

"Oh, not this again," Alan clicks his tongue in irritation before giving an exasperated sigh. "Why does the conversation always have to turn to fashion?"

"Hush, you," (Y/N) shrugs him off, "Well," she scans her mental inventory of information, ticking a list off of her fingers, "this season will consist of long wool coats, designer jeans, spandex cycling shorts and miniskirts--..."

"Miniskirts and cycling shorts in Winter?" Alan interrupts, looking between the two women.

"Yes, of course. A lady needs to show off her legs, come rain or shine," Ruby defends.

"Just a shame you two aren't _ladies_ ," Alan quips, receiving a punch on his shoulder from (Y/N).

"...Anyway, as I was saying, lots and lots of pastel colours... Which reminds me, Al, we need to get rid of that hideous red blazer of yours."

"What? Why? I rather like that blazer," he crosses his arms defensively over his chest.

"God, no. It's out of style now. What, with those large shoulder pads? That was so '87. We're in '88 now, you need to get with the times, darling. And didn't you just hear me say that pastels are _in,_ bold reds are _out_?"

"Wait, shoulder pads are still in, though," Ruby counteracts.

"Actually, not so. Off-the-shoulder sweatshirts are in now, taking its place."

Ruby gives a confirming nod, mentally taking note of her friend's styling advice.

"That's ridiculous. Just because _you_ work in fashion does not mean _I_ need to follow trends."

"Utter nonsense," (Y/N) exclaims, coming to her own defence, "You're about to be in the eyes of the Press with your new role in that upcoming telly series."

He sneers at the mention of the Press. (Y/N) knows how much he hates talking to the Press, and _about_ the Press, why she has to bring it up only heaven knows.

"Oh, no, he's turned that down," Ruby informs her with a wave of her hand. "He's up for a role in an actual Hollywood film."

"A Hollywood film at forty-one? I thought Hollywood slapped an expiration date on anyone over thirty..."

Ruby and Alan snicker at (Y/N)'s choice of words. Honestly, she's sometimes not aware of how funny she can be.

"I don't think I'll accept the part, though-"

"What? Why?" She interrupts, sitting upright on the sofa to face Alan head-on.

He pulls his shoulders up before answering, "I don't think it's my type of film."

"Not your _type_ of film? Al, you need the money. I mean, sure, the graphic design business is doing alright, but it's not necessarily paying the bills, is it?"

He purses his lips, shaking his head as he looks off into the distance.

"It doesn't matter, filming won't start until another year or two anyway. Anything can happen during that period."

Silence settles over the room as Alan slightly shifts in his seat. (Y/N) knows she has touched a nerve with the mention of the graphic design business.

"Anyway," she looks over at Alan, trying to lighten the mood, "what's the film called?"

"Die Hard."

"Die Hard?"

"It's a working title," he defends aloof.

"Hmmmm... Can a person actually die _hard_? I mean, is there even such a thing as dying at different levels of hardship?"

That's enough to send the whole room roaring in laughter, Alan being the first to speak after it quiets down again.

"I don't have time to worry about a film," he sighs, "I have more important things to worry about."

"Like, what?" She asks genuinely concerned, her hand now resting on his thigh.

"Alan's worried about his upcoming role as Valmont in _Les Liasons Dangereuses_ ," Ruby rushes to answer.

***https://www.instagram.com/p/B7a_i6DAmvp/?igshid=r2e2csljqj5

(Please, if you haven't watched that video yet of the lady asking Alan about his groin, go watch it!! I nearly wet myself!)

"Oh, love, you're going to be great. If I can give you some advice, lead with your _groin_. Believe me, if there's one thing I've learned from the industry, it's that sex sells. And you've got a lot to sell."

"Speaking of sex," Alan turns to Ruby after fishing a ten-pound note from his front pants pocket, holding it out to her, "here's some money to buy yourself dinner. Make yourself scarce," his head nods in the direction of the front door.

A smile lights up on Ruby's face at seeing the money and hearing the mention of food. She snatches the bill from between his fingers while getting up from the floor where she was sitting at the coffee table.

"Ten pounds? That's very generous of you. Have fun you two. Don't take too long, I'd like to return before midnight," she jokes as she wraps a scarf around her neck, heading out the front door.

"She's funny. She would make a great comedian one day," (Y/N) notes, turning back to face her friend.

"Now, that she's out of the flat, care to share what went down with your sister?"

"Oh, Al," all of a sudden all their earlier banter leaves her mind, and instead it fills with dread.

She wishes he didn't bring it up. Their silly banter and light conversation have finally put her bones at ease, now they have to go through it all again. She chews nervously on her bottom lip, trying not to think about the weight of the situation.

Her eyes start to well up voluntarily at the thought of it before she sniffs.

"I finally told her... today that I'm... I'm... bisexual and she's not taking it well. She k-kicked me out of our damn flat," she sobs.

He pulls her head onto his shoulder, holding her tightly while she cries.

Alan's heart goes out to his friend who has in the past week come to terms with the fact that she also fancies women. They've been practising different scenarios on how she can come out to her sister, but he guesses they didn't anticipate _this_ reaction. Yes, sure, bisexuality is the hidden wild card of this era, but they had rather hoped she would be open-minded about it all.

"What exactly did she say?" He encourages after her sobbing dies down.

"Well," she hiccups, "she said that it's difficult for her to wrap her head around; that I will remain her sister; but that she cannot be in contact with me until _she_ has come to terms with it. She said that as long as I don't act upon my _urges_ then I won't be sinning."

"Bollocks!" He exclaims angrily, pulling her back so he can look at her.

"You're allowed to love who you want, whether it be a man or woman or both. You're also allowed to sleep with whoever you choose. There's no such thing as "not acting on it". Bloody hell, you can't hide half of who you are because then people will only love and accept half of what makes you _you_."

"Oh, Alan," she breathes, blinking away a fresh set of tears. "Do you really mean that?"

"But of course, I do," he looks her straight in her chocolate orbs, his hand slowly coming up to cup her jaw. "I love all of you, not only a part of you. Besides, you can stay here if she's not letting you back in."

With those words, he seals their lips in a kiss so sensual that it turns (Y/N)'s legs to jelly.

"So," she breathes as they finally pull apart, staring into his eyes. "You're not put off by the fact that I would also wish to lay with a woman?"

"Do you still love cock even though you also fancy women?"

"I still love _you,_ " she reaffirms, "I'd never be able to share my love for you with anyone else... And yes, I also still love cock," she adds in a chuckle.

"Then I will show you that I'm not _put off_ by the fact that you're bisexual. In fact," he takes her by the hand, pulling her off the couch, "I'm willing to show you just how turned on I am by you right now."

She giggles as they run up the pinewood stairs, Alan leading her into his small bedroom.

The stuffy room is painted in an awful red, much like Alan's red blazer. (Y/N) has always wondered if red is in fact Alan's favourite colour, although he never does answer when she asks him.

She watches Alan walk over to the off-white vertical blinds, closing them to shield the public's eyes from their upcoming acts. She takes a breath, taking in the musky smell, looking around the room that she's so familiar with.

A dingy brass double bed takes up most of the space, covered in a black and pink floral bedspread that Mrs Rickman had no doubt gifted Alan as a house warming present. Her eyes follow the teal carpeting that is mostly covered in Alan's dirty laundry until she notices -...

"Spunk socks? Really, Alan?" She bends down, standing back up while holding the stiff white sock between her two fingers.

"Give that here," he quickly grabs the clothing item from her, slinging it into the corner of the room.

"Honestly, you ought to tidy up a bit more around here," she chastises, as she bundles up more clothes, pushing it into the same corner as the sock.

"Who are you, my mother?" He jabs as he dims the main light, opting for the glow of the vulgar yellow bedside lamp.

Speaking of, Alan's mother offered to redecorate the place on her dime, but Alan refused, saying that she should not be wasting her last few cents on something so frivolous. (Y/N) thinks Alan might just be too prideful to accept the offer because this whole flat could do with a makeover.

She thinks back to when all the rooms in this flat used to be decorated in only pinewood and aluminium foil when he and Ruby just moved in together. They called it _Shakespear's Sauna_ and Ruby would bring American tourists over, telling them that indeed Shakespear had his spa treatments here. That was until Alan had put a stop to it.

_Wise decision on Alan's part._

(Y/N) notices another spunk sock under the bed, flinging it towards the rest of the laundry, "Clearly, you need to get laid more."

"Not my fault you don't come around more often," he counteracts while pulling his black turtleneck sweater over his head, revealing those toned muscles that she loves to run her tongue over.

"I'm talking about _other_ girls, Al. You need to go out and get laid by _other_ girls, not just me."

"I very much like to think of myself as a one-woman type of man," he kicks his socks and shoes under the bed before making quick work of taking his pants off.

"Oh, yeah? And do you have a particular woman in mind?" (Y/N) takes the pins out of her hair that is holding her teased curls in place.

Her eyes follow him as he rummages through the bedside table. She watches as he bites into the foil packet, ripping the corner open, before slipping the condom onto himself. She licks her lips, knowing fully well that she'll be getting a taste of his well-endowed shaft momentarily.

Naked, he walks over to the corner of the small room, putting the record on that he had already pre-selected.

"You know, you're the only person I know who still owns a record player. Don't you know that CDs are a thing now?" (Y/N) discards her oversized pink and grey sweater, letting it pool next to her feet as she starts to loosen her oversized leather belt.

"Call me old fashioned, if you will," he walks over to her, looming over her plump 5 foot 1 body with his slender 6 foot 1 figure, slowly undoing her high-waisted stonewashed denim pants, "And... as a matter of fact, I do indeed have one particular woman in mind."

"Oh, yeah? And who might that be?" she breathes as his supple lips latch onto her exposed neck, his latex erection now pressing against her core.

"Promise me one thing," he avoids her question, as his hands roam her large bare stomach.

"What's that?" She closes her eyes as she takes in the feeling of his exploratory hands.

"If we're not married to other people by the time we reach fifty.... we marry each other?" His voice reverberates against her skin, sending shivers down her spine.

Her breath hitches in her throat as his fingers toy with her high-waisted cotton briefs, his unoccupied hand now fiddling with the hooks on the back of her _Jogbra_.

"Are you... _proposing_ to me, Mister Rickman?" Her mind is filled with lust, her eyes hooded as she looks up at him.

"Are you accepting?" He challenges, slipping two slender fingers inside her dripping wet tightness.

 _Yes!!_ is the answer that reverberates off the thin walls for the remainder of the evening as they make sweet, passionate love. 


End file.
